Rule 18

A faint 'pop' could be heard as Thaor apparated into Hogsmeade. After making sure no one was watching him, he darted up the path towards Honeydukes, slipped behind the building, hopped the fence to Michael's backyard, and was at the backdoor within seconds. If one didn't know better, they'd think he was a cat burglar. That's a rather curious term, cat burglar. It makes it seem as though they're stealing cats. Thaor thought to himself.

He wasn't quite sure how long he'd been standing there thinking about cat burglars before he realized he hadn't knocked yet. He reached out and went to knock when he realized he still had the time turner he had 'acquisitioned' from the Department of Mysteries just before coming here. He slipped it into his inner cloak pocket, and proceeded to knock three times on Michael's back door.

The cottage was had unusual noise in it today.  The dogs were hiding. Michael was sitting in the easy chair, overwhelmed.  He'd been summoned to The Three Broomsticks, only to find an old crone of a witch there, with two babies in travel seats. 


"You're Michael Tremaine?" she'd asked. 


"Uh...yeah?" he'd frowned, expecting perhaps a reconnaisance mission for the parents or something.  He didn't see the next bit coming.


"Congratulations," she'd said, sticking a folded parchment in one of the travel seats and handing both travel seats to him. She'd left in a puff of smoke without another word.


Michael was confused.  He had known Maddie was due any day with their child when she disappeared, but who the devil were these kids? Where was the obviously destitute mother and sot of a father....


He had drawn out the parchment and read it.  Birth Certificates. Two of them.  Scott Ryan Tremaine, born 3.01 am, December 25, 2027. Five pounds, 2 ounces.  Craig Wesley Tremaine, born 3.27 am, December 25, 2027, Five pounds, 6 ounces.  Mother, Madeline Tremaine. Father, Michael Tremaine....


He had stopped reading, his mind blank.  He'd somehow gotten home with the delivery, and now the travel seats sat on the floor. That had apparently been some time ago, because the travel seats were screaming. The dogs were hiding, and the hat rack was spazzing and racing back and forth trying to shove different foods into the mouthes of the babies to stop the noise.  What the heck did he know about babies anyway? That was supposed to have been Maddie's job.  His job was supposed to have been to keep them in the lifestyle that was comfortable and slightly below oppulence.

There was a knock on the door. Maddie, perhaps? He hoped anyway. He got up, the din still scaring the furniture, and went to the door and opened it.

Thaor. Much too much like his father, always blowing in and blowing out.  He'd blown out without a word, and evidently, the wind had changed and had blown him back for awhile. Ah, well, the allergy to roots was evidently in the Elldir dna. Michael had been that way for a years himself, to a point. 


"Well, well," he said, glad to see an adult aged friendly face, "welcome home. It's not quiet, but come on in and make yourself at home."  He opened the door for him and glanced back at the hat rack who was bringing leftover cold pizza to feed to the screaming babies. "Snidely, do they eat that?" he asked hesitantly. He glanced back at Thaor. "You do have a clue about these things, right?"

Thaor instantly noticed the two crying babies when Michael answered the door. They are hideous little things, not these specifically, just in general. he said, stepping inside. He laughed at the hat rack trying to feed the babies pizza, and then again, even harder, when Michael asked him for advice.

Khaat's popped out another two then? And do you really want to ask ME of all people for parenting advice? You do realize who my father is, don't you? He said with a laugh.

On a serious note, I believe they eat processed food, like, fruits and vegetables. Not real people food.

Thaor walked over to the couch and took a seat, peering into the two travel seats.

I'm afraid I can't stay long, I've got a bit of business to take care of. I was wondering if I could purchase some of your polijuice potion? He asked, always one to get straight to the point. He didn't see the point in small talk, time was valuable after all, why waste it discussing meaningless things.

"No, not Khaat's," Michael said. "She's paused at eight. At least for the moment. These belong to my..ex...Well, supposedly half their dna. If the parchments with them are correct the other half of the dna is mine. So, they're here. Their mother is not. I don't know where she is. Haven't seen her. "


He scowled at Snidely who scooped up a bottle of ale off the coffee table and waved it at the babies, as if he'd tried that before. He doubted if dangling anything in front of them like a cat toy would really work. At least with the cap still on the bottle, he wouldn't have 8 month olds drinking things that probably weren't part of their menu.


"Polyjuice," Michael frowned. "You can have some. But what the devil are you into?"

Now that I think about it, that makes sense.Thaor said, looking from the babies to Michael. Not you having babies, but them not being Khaats, she would trust you to protect them, but probably not to look after them. he said with a laugh.

Thaor took the bottle of ale from Snidely and poured himself and Michael some. Congratulations are in order, father Michael, who would have guessed? he said, handing Michael a glass.

As for the polyjuice, it's for unspeakable things, you know, I'm an unspeakable. he said with a slight smile. He was never one to give away his plans, especially when they were questionable. The way he saw it, Rule 18 came into play here, "It's easier to ask for forgiveness, than permission."

"Well, the married-and-kids thing I had hoped to escape from, but, given that or Azkaban, I chose the marriage-and-kids. Now, I'm divorced with sons. Not that I know what to do with them." He took the ale from Thaor, made a halfhearted toast in the air, taking a swig.  "Thank you."  He cast a glance to the fussy tots who weren't any happier.  He didn't know how Robert did it, but Robert didn't seem to get rattled, no matter how noisy kids became. Michael was finding out it grated on his nerves. 

"Just a second," He said, going and getting a bottle of polyjuice and handing it to him.  "Those rules never work, you know," Michael said, baiting him.  "You do realize that you can speak with a fellow Unspeakable, right? What on earth are you up to? You generally don't do anything without a reason.

Thaor toasted with Michael then took a gulp of his ale. It was rather dry, he preferred sweets, but as long as it does the job, he'd drink it.

Thaor raised an eyebrow at Michael mentioning the rules he and his father lived by. Everyone needs a code to live by Michael, you of all people should understand that.

I know I can talk to you Michael, but, I intend to do something I'm sure you wouldn't understand. he said, slipping the polyjuice into his inner pocket next to the time turner. As you know, I've been investigating my fathers death, and the details about him being cursed. I found the answers I was looking for, and now, there is something I must do. he said solemnly as he stood, and headed to the door.

Take care Michael, if I succeed in what I set out to do, this very well may be the last time we meet in current form. Thaor said as he slipped out the door.

Michael had intended to try to pin him down a little more, to get him to tell him what the heck he was into. For Thaor to want polyjuice and to not want to tell him what for, particularly when it came to his father's death, that didn't resonate well with Michael.  It suggested that Thaor was doing something he knew Michael wouldn't approve of. He wanted to stop him and see if he could keep the young man from trouble. As in all Elldir things, Thaor didn't want help, didn't want advice, and intended to plunge on ahead alone.  He hadn't given Michael another moment to slow things down.


Michael sighed and shut the door. Last time they'd meet in current form? That was clearly a goodbye.  Michael, in another day and time, might have been tempted to try to trace where Thaor had gone and might have followed. There were two reasons he couldn't this time--two noisy unhappy little reasons who were still in travel seats on the floor. He silently wished the young man good luck and hoped he'd be safe.


He glanced back towards the babies. "Snidely, I doubt very much that they eat leftover bangers and mash either," he sighed.  He got out a few galleons and handed them to the hat rack. "Nip down to the store and pick up a couple baby bottles, would you?" The hat rack left in a hurry.


"What have you done, Thaor?" Michael sighed, concerned.

Thaor had unsuccessfully been trying to draw a mustache on Headmaster Doyle's portrait in the headmaster's office when suddenly, he was outside Michael's house in Hogsmeade.

What the.. he said to himself as he looked around, quill still in hand. It took about another second for him to realize something was very different. He could feel the pen in his hand. He could feel gravity pulling him down. He could feel his clothes on his body. HE COULD FEEL.

Thaor quickly slapped himself to be sure this was all real. It was. Somehow, someway, he was alive. Since he appeared outside Michael's house, he assumed Michael had something to do with this. Michael always had something to do with crazy things like this.

He attempted to run to the front door, but fell after a few steps. He forgot how gravity works, it appeared. Idiot! he scolded himself. He reached the door, and knocked three times.

Michael had seen his screaming offspring did each have a few teeth.  He decided to try something unlikely, but he had hoped it would work for the moment. He had gotten a quart of blueberries from the fridge and had found they liked having him hand them each a blueberry, and they liked taking it from his hand and eating the berries.  For the moment, it seemed to be heading the kids in the right direction.


Three knocks.  What had he forgotten? Or, more likely, what had he buggared up? He handed each of the kids another blueberry and went to the door.


He opened the door, looked at the figure in front of him.  What the devil...? This looked like older Thaor.  He frowned deeply, not sure how the spirit had gotten here.  Why he looked so solid was going to be his second question.

"Alright," he said dryly. "Either you've got a very odd sense of humor, or something's gone wrong with the polyjuice.  Keeping some of your dad's hair, are you?"